They to him are silent ever, Into life's fresh circle never From their pedestals come down. He alone e'er holds the Muses Through whose breast their power diffuses,-- To the Vandal they're but stone! THEKLA. A SPIRIT VOICE. Whither was it that my spirit wended When from thee my fleeting shadow moved? Is not now each earthly conflict ended? Say,--have I not lived,--have I not loved? Art thou for the nightingales inquiring Who entranced thee in the early year With their melody so joy-inspiring? Only whilst they loved they lingered here. Is the lost one lost to me forever? Trust me, with him joyfully I stray There, where naught united souls can sever, And where every tear is wiped away. And thou, too, wilt find us in yon heaven, When thy love with our love can compare; There my father dwells, his sins forgiven,-- Murder foul can never reach him there. And he feels that him no vision cheated When he gazed upon the stars on high; For as each one metes, to him 'tis meted; Who believes it, hath the Holy nigh. Faith is kept in those blest regions yonder With the feelings true that ne'er decay. Venture thou to dream, then, and to wander Noblest thoughts oft lie in childlike play. THE ANTIQUE TO THE NORTHERN WANDERER. Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean,-- Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, That thou might'st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty, Which the voice of renown spreads through the wandering world. And now before me thou standest,--canst touch my altar so holy,-- But art thou nearer to me, or am I nearer to thee? THE ILIAD. Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive! Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature, 'Tis thy features it bears,--Nature,--thy features eterne! POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM.